


Fade Away

by dancemagic



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Memory Loss, SEAL Team (TV) Week 2021, a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancemagic/pseuds/dancemagic
Summary: Awareness slams into him all at once, with a startling and confusing suddenness that makes him lose his breath.The first thought that comes with any clarity – before he’s ever even able to make use of his senses to discern where he is or what’s going on around him – is that something is wrong. Very wrong.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> For the Monday prompt of Seal Team Week 2021, which is "memory loss."
> 
> This is not a happy fic, with significant implied death and an unresolved ending. So I guess the good thing is, you get to decide how it ends.
> 
> It was basically a writing exercise for me – write 1,000 words fully in a character’s head with no dialogue and no external action. So it may be very boring. And of course, it’s me, so it ended up being 2,000+ words. 🙄

Awareness slams into him all at once, with a startling and confusing suddenness that makes him lose his breath.

The first thought that comes with any clarity – before he’s ever even able to make use of his senses to discern where he is or what’s going on around him – is that something is wrong. _Very_ wrong. The nature of his job means that he’s lived through some shit, and with that experience comes the finely-tuned ability to immediately recognize trouble. 

Even so, the fact that the _oh shit_ feeling hits him before any of his senses come on board means something has gone spectacularly upside down.

When he’s finally able to suck in a breath, it brings with it the overwhelming stench of smoke, acrid gasoline and musty earth.

And death.

Sound comes a split second later. His ears feel like they’ve been stuffed full of cotton, like he’s being held submerged underwater. But through that there’s a confusing combination of crackle pops and creaking metal and something mechanical, a whirring sound. In the immediate moment, his brain won’t compute what those things could add up to.

He consciously decides to open his eyes, and he purposely does it slowly. He’s conditioned to be cautious with these things, to always know the enemy may be watching, monitoring and evaluating.

No one is looking at him, though. Instead, he sees thick plumes of black and gray smoke, blotting out and almost completely obscuring the blue and purple sky beyond.

But it’s enough to deduce that he’s outside, lying on his back and facing skyward, almost like he’s cloud gazing. But the whole thing disorients him, because he doesn’t necessarily _feel_ like he’s lying down.

And then he realizes with a belated jolt that it’s because he doesn’t really feel much of anything at all.

He can’t move.

It’s like his body is gone, disappeared with only a phantom, shadowy remnant left behind where it used to be.

And he has no memory of what happened to bring him to this state.

An intense panic finally crashes over him, and he has to force himself to recall his training and let it take over.

Assess the situation.

Work the problem.

He takes several forced breaths and tries to clear the fog that’s enveloped his mind.

The sound becomes sharper. It’s flickering flames, he realizes, and the groaning of burning, expanding metal.

That’s also when he finally registers the heat on his face, like he’s looking into an oven as he waits for a meal to cook. He can feel sweat trickle down his temple, the trails somehow making him even hotter instead of cooling him off.

As terrifying as it is, he knows he needs to get an assessment of the rest of his body. He closes his eyes and focuses his consciousness inside. He can feel a generalized aching pain, but can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. He tries to move and, while he can’t be positive, he’s pretty sure he’s completely unsuccessful.

He finds that his neck works though, and he can move his head slightly. Along with the full range of movement from his eyes, that gives him a broader picture of his environment.

There are pockets of flames – unsurprising – and piles of twisted and burning familiar gray metal. 

The C-17.

The realization that he’s lying among the remnants of the destroyed C-17 is shocking, and it generates a whole new set of questions.

What happened? A plane like that doesn’t just fall out of the sky.

Could they have been shot down? Was there a bomb? Were they in the air or on the ground at the time?

The lack of immediate first responders or any civilization in his view makes him think the former, but that leads to another question.

Where is he?

Try as he might, he can’t remember where they were going or anything about a mission they may have been running.

It’s all just blank.

He has no idea what part of the world they might have been over – whether it was friendly or enemy territory. He doesn’t see any recognizable terrain with his limited view. He thinks he may see the shape of trees in the distance, but he can’t be sure, and the bit of landscape he finds himself on is just that – land.

The crash of a United States Air Force C-17 isn’t going to go unnoticed, and he can only pray they’re somewhere where the first people to arrive at the scene will be there to try to help and not harm.

And then there’s the question he doesn’t want to address.

Where are his brothers?

If he was on that plane, he has to assume his brothers were too, and his heart aches in his unfeeling chest when he pictures them – hanging in hammocks, sprawled across the web benches and shooting the shit with each other.

But what if it was even more? What if it was a joint op with Alpha or one of the other teams?

What about Blackburn and Davis? The rest of their support staff. How many people are usually on one of those flights? It’s a lot. Too many to contemplate the potential loss, he knows that much.

Even though he’s afraid of what he might find, he tries to look. With the limited scope of his vision, he doesn’t see any bodies or any other signs of life. It’s a relief and devastating all at once.

He tries to call out, but the attempt at sound gets caught in his throat and sets off a weak gagging fit. With it comes the familiar metallic taste of blood, and he feels it slip past his lips unbidden in a warm trail curving down and around his chin.

He clenches his eyes shut and takes another assessment.

He’s starting to feel woozy.

Were they drinking on the flight? Celebrating a successful op?

It’s possible, but he knows it’s more likely that it’s an injury from the crash. The lack of feeling and movement is worrying on its own, but it also means he could be in serious, immediate danger and not even realize it. Or be able to do anything about it.

Is he bleeding out somewhere? Are his limbs even intact? His vision only reaches enough to see the start of his chest, where a familiar t-shirt lies. But he frustratingly can’t see anything beyond that, no matter how much he tries to crane his neck or leverage himself up off of the ground.

It’s suddenly darker, and he knows that doesn’t make sense.

That’s not how time works.

It takes him long, extended minutes – too long, he knows – to realize it probably means he faded out at some point. He doesn’t think it was long, but the sky has become darker and the smoke has diminished some. He’s able to see some stars beginning to peek through.

The reality of being trapped like this, unable to move and not knowing where he is, feels even more terrifying knowing that night is falling. He knows the remaining fires are likely to keep large wildlife away, but he’s completely helpless, and it isn’t a feeling he’s used to or comfortable with.

He closes his eyes and assesses things again.

He thinks he can actually feel some grit under his left pinkie finger where it rest in what he thinks is dirt, and it gives him hope that he hasn’t lost all feeling forever.

But he’s starting to realize that physical feeling is likely the least of his problems.

He feels his energy slipping away as the minutes go by. A deep exhaustion is taking hold, and he finds his teeth chattering and the muscles in his neck clenching, even though he knows he should be burning hot.

His thoughts turn to his brothers again, as they so often do in times of trouble, uncertainty and need.

If he’s lying here, unable to produce the kind of sound that would let someone else know he’s alive, there’s definitely a chance that one of his brothers is in the same situation, right? Maybe even more than one.

He knows it’s probably wishful thinking – that the chances of surviving a crash like this are already one in a million.

Or maybe they had enough warning and were able to get jocked up and parachute out. He can’t explain why he wouldn’t have done the same and he can’t imagine they’d desert everyone else on board even if it was possible, but it’s a hope that he can cling to until he’s proven otherwise.

Because the thought of all of Bravo team being wiped out like this, when they’ve survived the most dangerous operations on earth and countless firefights, feels like some kind of cruel joke.

And that unfairness is compounded by the loss of the C-17.

That plane was always a place of comfort for him – the calm before the storm when they were headed to a mission and the refuge that offered relief after they survived one. Its steady rumble rocked him gently to sleep more times than he can count, and its curved walls offered protection from the outside world. It was a safe space where they bonded with one another – talking about their families, their hopes and their fears.

He prays whatever happened, happened quick, and that the other souls on that plane didn’t spend their last minutes terrified of what was to come.

Time is gone again.

When he comes back to awareness, it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open. And when they are open, his vision is distorted and tunneled.

He knows he’s in serious trouble. The chance of someone finding him in time to help him – and the chance of that person being friendly – is slim.

He’s found himself in life-threatening situations before. But he always had his brothers to rely on – the knowledge that they had his back and would do everything in their power to save or rescue him.

This time, he feels completely alone.

He doesn’t want to die. Not like this.

But he also doesn’t want to return home to try to carve out a life without his brothers. The idea of it is unimaginable. He thinks it would be an even worse fate than dying here with them.

When they lost Echo team, he remembers being comforted by the idea that they all died together. That none of them had to live knowing the rest of their brothers were gone forever.

He still feels that way now.

But he also thinks of everyone he loves back home that he’ll be leaving behind.

He knows a return to them is a long shot anyway. That an enormous number of roadblocks would need to be overcome and too many lucky breaks would need to fall his way to make it back to them.

They know he loves them. They know that _all_ of the guys love them. And that will have to be enough.

He’s proud of what he’s done in his career. Proud of the lives he saved, of what he did to protect the innocent and the way he represented his country.

This isn’t the way he expected to go out, or what he would have chosen. But if it’s all there is to it, and his number is up, he doesn’t have any regrets.

The darkness is closing in on him, literally and figuratively. He stares at what’s left of the flames and it hurts his eyes. But it means he still sees the remnants of the light when he closes them, and that’s a welcome comfort.

He hears something then. Muted voices, growing louder.

At first, his addled brain thinks it’s his teammates, coming to help him, and he feels an inkling of hope.

But it isn’t. He knows that’s not something any of them are capable of.

The voices become clearer and more unfamiliar.

He hears them as if they’re at the end of a tunnel, but he knows they’ll reach his position soon.

And he doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.

The wait seems to extend for full lifetimes, and he’s so tired.

So he closes his eyes, and he fades away.

**Author's Note:**

> I also wanted to write this from an undefined POV, so I sort of switched around the members of Bravo in my head as I wrote so it wouldn't seem too much like any one of them. BUT, one of them just insisted it was him and I had to keep pushing him away. 
> 
> So I'm curious to hear if anyone had their own idea of who it was while reading?


End file.
